


Red Lights, Red Nights

by orphan_account, Slaughter_Me



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Businessman Steve Rogers, Cock Warming, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Pole Dancing, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Stripper Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, as in Bucky likes it when Steve calls him 'baby boy', slight D/s, the tinniest bit of a daddy kink if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaughter_Me/pseuds/Slaughter_Me
Summary: “‘Sarge’ doesn’t break his rules for anyone, let alone the plethora of rich, married men that waltz into Red Room looking to bag a partner for the night, flashing their money like they own the joint - Bucky though? Well … when Mr. ("Call me Steve”) Rogers offers him five thousand dollars for one night, no strings attached, he honestly can’t resist, not with how he’s a walking wet dream. The only problem is that Bucky’s never been good at one night stands, and Steve’s married if the gold wedding band on his finger is anything to go by.“[A Cap Reverse Big Bang 2017 fic featuring art by slaughterme-barnes]





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Slaughter_Me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slaughter_Me/gifts).



> First of all, let me say that this has been a thrill from start to finish, and that I can't thank the people I've been working with more, so without further adieu:  
> My artist, Slaughter_Me, is an absolute delight and it's been a pleasure to be able to write something based off her art -- the original art itself is absolutely gorgeous, and the banner she made? To me it captures everything I wanted this fic to be, so thank you so much! I hope I've done you proud :)  
> Mific was my beta and /lord/, they truly took it all to the next level. Without them what you're about to read would've been so far from it's potential, and I can't thank them enough for helping me out even though they had their own deadlines.
> 
> So, without me dragging on to much, here we go!  
> (also, there is a link in the end notes of /that/ scene featuring the poles, if you want to see the routine since I tried to leave it mostly to the reader's imagination despite having a clear view myself)

# PART ONE

 

## Barnes

Most people woke with the birds singing, sun shining, but for Bucky it was the opposite; his line of work meant late nights that were more like starting at six and ending at four am. That gave him a half-hour drive home to his shitty little apartment, and then a quick meal and shower to clean himself off. So, by the time he eventually got to sleep it’d be about five, at the earliest, and then he'd sleep as much as possible which often ended with him begrudgingly awakening at about two or three. It was a repetitive, unpleasant cycle, one that he'd been putting himself through ever since he'd returned from the Middle East.

 If he'd had any say in the matter then he'd still be there. Sure, the conditions weren't ideal, and he still suffered greatly from the things he'd seen and done, but if Bucky was being completely honest it was far easier to exist over there. Everything was on a set schedule, everything was decided for you, and when you were as fucked up as him then you needed that to keep functioning.

 He’d always been a wild spirit, and his mother had been less than pleased when at the eager age of eighteen he'd enlisted in the army. It’d certainly been an impulsive decision, a sudden moment where he could either follow the little life set out for him —work at Barnes Motors for the rest of his existence, settle down with some doe-eyed wife and pop out gorgeous little children his Ma could coo over — or, just maybe, he could do something worthwhile with his life. Make a difference, even.

 The decision had been simple after that.

 It’d been fun, despite the horrors, and the men he'd served with became like a second family to him over the years. They were men he'd laughed and joked with, who'd shared the pain he'd felt, who'd watched his ass and made sure he didn’t get himself blown sky high on a daily basis. They'd cried and fought and killed together, and that sort of thing inevitably formed a bond. After all, who better to understand you than men who'd experienced everything you had?

 In the end friendship hadn't been enough to save him from getting his arm blown off in an explosion. Looking back, it'd been a foolish mistake: Bucky and Dugan had been joking around, bumping into each other while on a routine patrol — all it'd taken was a small push, and then he'd stumbled and dropped the canteen he'd been holding onto. How were they supposed to know that there was an IED buried just under the soft sand? One second the air was filled with laughter, the next screams and shouts, thunderous _booms_ as the bomb exploded. Not only had he been pumped full of shrapnel, but the damned thing had decided to take most of his left arm with it.

 That was it. No heroic stand. Nothing at all honorable like the promotional videos had suggested back in induction all those years ago. No, instead James was shipped back to the good ol’ U S of A with one arm and a mental minefield that he was still only just beginning to navigate. He supposed he was lucky, really, having been selected for an exclusive chance to be fitted with a high functioning prosthetic created by none other than the infamous Tony Stark. Fitting, considering that it'd been said genius’s technology which had taken the limb in the first place. It was incredible, made out of a rare metal and completely functional to the point that he could even sense pressure, temperatures and textiles with the thing. Even though he hated the guy, he couldn't deny that he knew what he was doing when it came to technology.

 Coming home meant a meagre military pension, something he'd barely survived on for almost a year before his younger sister Becca had effectively stormed his apartment. She was a truly a force to be reckoned with. He'd been living like a fucking hobo for months, having grown a scraggly beard, his hair long, covered in filth and living in his own mess. Far from throwing a pity party though, Becca had instead slapped him square across the jaw and yelled that she wasn’t going to put up with his shit anymore, and that if he didn’t, clean up his fucking act, then she was going to drag him out of the place by his balls.

 That had certainly caught his attention.

 So yes, he'd cleaned up his act, got his apartment back to a decent state, or rather to a point his little sister had decided was suitable for him to live in, shaved, cut his hair, booked himself in with a psychologist — everything she’d wanted. The job turned out to be the hardest part, because while he couldn't survive on just his pension, there weren't many (as in any) places willing to hire an ex-soldier with raging PTSD and a prosthetic limb.

 “Can’t afford the liability,” they'd all said in sickly sweet tones, pretending to be sympathetic. They'd all just wished him luck and sent him on his way, another vet that'd fallen through the cracks in the system.

 It had started off as a joke, really, when his then-current hook-up had commented that he'd be a ‘ballin’ stripper’. Bucky had laughed it off, proceeding to shake his head and crawl up onto the bed, but he couldn't deny that for some reason it'd latched onto his mind. He knew _others_ said he was good looking, saying he had a chiseled face with "stormy blue eyes". One dude had even gone on about his "perfect, pouty lips". He could use it to work his way out of nearly anything, and he'd been hitting the gym so his body was building up nicely enough. Also, he _desperately_ needed a job.

 It was almost comical how after one calculated look the owner of Red Room had offered him a position.

## Sarge

It was your typical Friday night at Red Room, and the drinks had been flowing since before the sun had even retreated below the horizon. The club was bustling, what had to be at least two hundred patrons already clogging up the dance floor, leaving little to no room for anyone to make their way through the crowd. The air was alive with the club's signature tunes, the laughter and pleased shouts of patrons mixing with the electro-grunge music the DJ favored. It was almost deafening, to the point that all the workers on stage had to wear small microphones so their practiced voices could be heard by the eager onlookers. It was chaotic, yes, but in a way many people found intriguing — intoxicating, even.

 Bucky had always loved this sort of scene, but moving from the crowd onto one of the stages had given him a completely new perspective, and ultimately a new appreciation. He'd never admit it to any of his friends, and especially not his family who were still oblivious to his new line of work, but he couldn't deny that using his body on stage for others' pleasure had done wonders for his self esteem, and had helped his social anxiety a lot. Gone were the days of not even being able to go into a damn shopping center — now he handled big crowds with ease.

 And yes, maybe, just maybe, it'd helped him become more accepting of the goddamn arm, which the crowds seemed to love for a reason he couldn’t comprehend

 Tonight was no different to any other night he'd worked, but as always he put one hundred and ten percent into his performance, working the stage with practiced ease as Bucky Barnes was pushed aside and replaced with the commanding and utterly sexual ‘Sarge’ — it'd been one of Nat’s brilliant ideas when they’d been absolutely batshit wasted, and the name had just sort of stuck. After all, every good stripper needed an obviously fake stage name.

 Sarge was essentially everything he wanted to be himself — everything he _used_ to be. Before the war, that is. When Sarge walked on stage dressed in black leather, metal arm exposed, straps and zippers covering his whole body, he commanded the attention of the entire audience, drawing them in with steely blue eyes that gave away nothing. His routine was rough, raw and fast paced, yet also sensuous in a way that was unique to him. Even when he was stripped down to a skimpy black thong, bare before so many hungry eyes, he was completely in control of the situation. Even when he was dropping down into a glorified slut drop Sarge wasn't someone to dominate, instead he'd make your whole body quiver with anticipation, make you beg for him with a simple glance.

 When Bucky got up on stage and let himself go, it was ridiculously liberating. He loved it, and the audience didn’t need to know that his little act was far from the truth, or that in real life he moaned like a damned whore whenever he got someone’s hands on him.

 

## Blue Eyes

Everything was going down as usual, until the living embodiment of Adonis walked into the club. Even from his position on stage Bucky was drawn to the mop of combed back dark blond hair accompanied by a short, trimmed beard that he could only imagine would leave a gorgeous rash on his inner thighs. Bucky kept his eyes front and center, not faltering in his performance as he tilted his chin up and swiveled his hips sinfully, fingers ever so slowly unzipping the waistband of the leather pants, making a show of it. He’d been performing for a few minutes now, the tension building as he removed his shirt to reveal a defined chest that'd been oiled up backstage by one of the assistants. At first he'd hated the stuff, but he knew from experience how good the shit looked like under the bright lights of the stage.

 He tucked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pulled them down an inch, body moving to the beat of the music as he revealed the prominent ‘v’ that led to what everyone here was dying to see. The edge of his thong peeked out over the top of his pants and he smirked, eyes full of promises as he snapped the material against his skin with an audible crack. The crowd always loved that one, shouts of encouragement breaking through the din of the music. His performances were absolutely sinful, compared to a lot of the other acts — he loved his colleagues, but you could only take so many shy schoolgirl performances from various girls before it became lack-luster. And boys — the Red Room didn’t discriminate, in fact they were quite accepting of transgender and androgynous performers.

 Adonis obviously came from a wealthy background, as did a lot of the high-paying clientele. He was perfectly groomed and wearing a dark suit that was ever so slightly tight across his chest, hiding what Bucky could only imagine was a gorgeous body. His clothes were crisply folded and pressed, and Bucky guessed the suit had probably never been worn before. Bucky'd dealt with this type of guy a lot in his time at the club. They were often cocky and arrogant, flaunting their money and assuming it could get them anything. That was true most of the time, but not with him; he'd made it clear when he accepted the job that he wasn't interested in the more personal side of the business —there was no way he was going to get down and nasty with some guy (or girl) for cash. Not that he had anything against people who did, it just wasn't for him, not with his arm and what he'd been through.

 Even so, this guy was just . . . yeah, a walking wet dream if ever there was one.

 The club was packed, but despite that it only took Adonis a minute to reach the front of the stage. He walked with a swagger in his step that was cocky, but in a way that made it seem almost unintentional; he almost _demanded_ attention — as though it was his right to be watched. And honestly, Bucky wasn't even going to try and argue with that. For all of his neatly groomed looks, this was the sort of guy your mamma warned you about, and as Bucky strutted across the stage he kept glancing back towards the new patron.

 He did a round trip, swinging his hips as he walked and occasionally leaning down to pull some ties or give people a closer look, his dark smirk growing with every bill that was added to the pile stuffed in his underwear. What could he say? He was traditional, and besides, Sarge wasn't going to pick any note up off the stage, no matter how big it was.

 His heart was racing even faster than usual, to the point where he could feel it in his throat by the time he managed to reach the guy who'd been the object of his desire for all of three minutes, obvious arousal stretching the confines of his thong, which only made the crowd shower him with even more cheers of approval. They could dream all they wanted, but it wasn't for them.

 There he was in all his glory, blue eyes intensified by the blue tie around his neck. The first thing Bucky noticed was _oh_ , Adonis was staring at him, and that was enough to short-circuit his brain, but the most shocking part was that Adonis was staring at him as though he _knew_. As though he knew how Bucky was fantasizing about what it'd be like for this gorgeous guy to bend him over a table and torment him for hours, as though he knew Bucky's obvious hard on was for him and no one else. _Like he knew._

Bucky let out a barely audible whimper as Adonis smirked, flicking through his wallet before leaning up to tuck a pristine fifty into the waistband of Bucky's thong, fingers just barely grazing the skin underneath. The guy glanced upwards to meet Bucky's eyes, pink tongue darting out to moisten dry lips before he pulled back a little to let the next patron reach up, but it didn’t matter. Bucky was still focused on him, even as the music tapered off and the lights faded, even as he walked off stage with a good thousand dollars sticking out of every bit of his underwear, even as he ducked behind one of the wardrobes back-stage to give his junk a firm squeeze as though chastising it for betraying his desires. All he could think was _blueeyesandpinklipsandcombedhairand—_

## What We Do To Make A Living

If Bucky said he'd hoped that'd be the first and last time to see his now- dubbed Adonis, he'd be a goddam liar. Even so, that didn’t mean he'd wanted Natasha to come up to him twenty minutes after his show ended to hand him a folded piece of paper, red painted lips pursed into a thin line that made her seem colder than usual.

 Natasha was one of the biggest hits at the Red Room: the Black Widow, the femme fatale, the dominatrix of every man and woman’s fantasies, whether they knew it or not. She was gorgeous, curves and sharp angles combined, with sultry red lips and hair to match. Her act was similar to his in a lot of ways, with leather, flashing lights and smoke machines, harnesses too, but the main difference was that for Bucky that was exactly it — an act. Nat really was a dom — hell, he'd seen her in action, and that made her performances all the more thrilling.

 “You’ve got another offer, a big fish this time, a Mr. S. Rogers. Wants a private show all for himself, some touching, maybe a bit of hand-on-dick, dick-on-dick, mouth-on-dick action, but nothing beyond that.” Nat said all this in a monotone, a perfectly manicured hand resting on one cocked hip, leaning against the wall where he was sitting. She smelt like bubblegum, the strawberry kind she always chewed, and as always the scent was soothing to his senses. Nat was more than just a friend, she was his sister in everything but blood, something even his family seemed to have accepted at this point. She wasn’t ashamed of her job in the slightest but for his sake she just said she was a friend from work, not specifying that _her_ job included whipping clients for their enjoyment.

 Bucky nodded, rubbing a hand over his cheek and letting out a small yawn, the four pack of energy drinks he'd gotten from the convenience store on his way to work wearing off already. Same old, he figured, not that he was interested. It was his rule not to accept offers, but even so the club's policy required that he be briefed on all offers. Probably because Pierce, the club owner, was hoping he'd say yes.

 He was halfway through skimming the note when he noticed the handwriting. It was oddly pretty — or as pretty as someone's handwriting could be when it'd obviously been hastily written. Natasha's voice pulled him from his thoughts, causing him to blink in confusion.

 “Five thousand dollars for an hour with you. He's already put down a five hundred dollar deposit whether you accept or not. The five grand is additional, so your cut would end up somewhere over three-five.” She sounded like even she was surprised.

 That was just . . . for a good minute Bucky was sure this had to be some sort of joke, because there was no way that anyone would offer that much for _one fucking hour_ with him, when that hour didn’t cover actual sex? He’d only ever been offered just under two grand for a whole night before, and that included the works. That meant this guy was loaded, and obviously desperate. He paused, frowning at the paper, and swallowed, leaning back. That'd take his profits for the night to just over four thousand dollars, more than he usually made in a week.

 “Five thousand?” he repeated softly, and Nat nodded and clapped his shoulder.

 “I know you don’t, but . . . I caught a glance of him at the desk. He's pretty. Even if it’s only once, that’s money you can save. Get a cheap car rather than catching the bus every day. Even save to buy your own place. You've already got a few thousand put away; it’d definitely help. University would be one step closer.” Natasha sat down beside him, dragging her fingers up to gently scratch at his scalp. He relaxed into the touch, sighing, letting the paper drop into his lap. Five grand. He could do it, for that much. Just this once.

 

## Tickle Me Pink

Bucky knew he was in over his head the moment the door opened and Adonis — no, Mr. Rogers — stepped in, dressed in that suit that was even more gorgeous up close, and looking at him with calculated lust. His brain didn’t compute for a few moments, and instead of Sarge spread out on the love seat it was _Bucky_ , lips parted and cheeks flushed pink. Honestly he wasn't sure if this was good luck or not; on one hand he wouldn't need any help getting it up or acting enthusiastic if the tingle at the base of his spine was anything to go by, but on the other hand he was actually attracted to the guy. That was . . . it didn’t happen often, and it was a shame that this was how it'd have to go. Wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. Or sir.

 The most surprising part was that the guy seemed somewhat torn between nervous and impatient, moving over to Bucky but not sitting down, the fingers of one hand fidgeting with a scrunched up ball of paper and a flush creeping up from under his collar. Oh? Bucky swallowed thickly before forcing his features into something more cocksure, smirking as he leant up to tangle his fingers in that blue tie, gently tugging. The red velvet of the couch brushed along the backs of his thighs and made him shiver, his skin prickling in the cool air. “How do you want me, Mr. Rogers?” he purred in his sultriest voice. If he just stuck to the act . . . but what if he didn’t want to? The guy was apparently a first time customer, so maybe he could get away with relaxing a bit, having fun with the whole situation.

 “Steve,” the guy said, licking his lips and letting his gaze rake over Bucky's body, taking in the harness on his chest and his ridiculously tight booty shorts — Bucky knew they made his ass look great. “Call me Steve,” the guy repeated, and then Bucky was being manhandled. The guy's — Steve's — touch was firm, almost careful as he sat on the love seat, dragging Bucky into his lap with ridiculous ease. _Oh_. Bucky wasn't small, he was all hard muscle, and he'd never anticipated someone being able to lift him so easily. So sue him for the soft moan that left his lips, he was pretty sure anyone would've moaned at that point.

 “You’re even prettier up close. God — I can touch, right?” Steve breathed, another comment that threw Bucky off guard a bit; this was different to what he'd been expecting, but in a good way. Steve wasn't cruel and he seemed hesitant, unsure of himself, almost like he didn’t want to make a mistake. Bucky considered the almost impossible idea that Steve might be a nice guy — because seriously, he was like something out of a mind-bending porno — before figuring to hell with it, completely dropping his Sarge persona and arching his chest forward, gasping when his nipples rubbed against the stiff material of the grey suit. They instantly pebbled under the contact, his grey eyes fluttering at the pleasant little _zing_. He worried his bottom lip, glancing up (wow, that was new) at Steve from under his eyelashes before nodding.

 “Of course sir, I’m all yours,” he whispered, mimicking the velvet allure that Natasha employed in her shows, completely relaxing his body other than his fingers, which started undoing Steve’s tie. Steve seemed more shocked than anything for a moment, perhaps because this wasn't what he'd expected, or what he'd paid for based on Bucky's stage persona, but if anything he seemed to enjoy it even more. Bucky could literally feel him grow hard in his slacks and _fuck_ , was that a baseball bat? All jokes aside, this guy was seriously packing, and that just spurred him on even more, making him give an experimental swivel of his hips, which earned him a positively mouth watering groan in response.

 “I wanna take you apart,” Steve growled suddenly, causing shivers to cascade down Bucky's spine. Steve's voice was thick with lust and promise, a far cry from the blushing guy who'd been too hesitant to touch him a moment ago. All Bucky could do was nod frantically, clutching at Steve's suit without giving a shit if he was crumpling it or not.

 “Please,” he begged, rolling his hips once more. Then all of a sudden he was flipped around, back pressed down into the velvet as his legs were spread, feet just scraping the ground. His heart was pounding, his breathing erratic as lips brushed over the line of his jaw, accompanied by the soft scrape of a beard. That was new — he wasn't used to beards.

 “Relax,” Steve purred into his ear, nipping at the sensitive skin of his throat, “just close your eyes, let me take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good, baby.” It probably wasn't a good idea to trust a man you'd literally just met who was paying for your body, but instinctively Bucky’s body loosened, going limp, eyes fluttering closed as Steve's lips traced a scorching trail down his chest, accompanied by teeth and tongue, and that beard — he was definitely gonna have beard-burn. His body undulated, chest rising and falling rapidly as warm breath moved lower over his waistband and thick fingers slid up his thighs before tucking under the elastic, a thumb tapping his hip. He instantly obeyed the cue, tilting his hips up tentatively so that Steve could pull the material down his legs.

 Bucky felt ridiculously exposed, legs trembling and eyes shut as Steve hummed appreciatively, followed by an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of his thigh, the air cooling his saliva-wet skin. Part of him wondered if this was a good idea, and the other part was already an incoherent mess. For once he just wanted to let go and—

Bucky let out a pathetic mewl when all of a sudden warm heat engulfed his cock, mouthing gently for a few moments before starting to suck him down. He wasn't small by any means, lengthy and a bit above average, so it was thrilling when Steve took a considerable portion of him into his mouth at once. The blowjob wasn't rushed, even thought the minutes were ticking away, money slowly trickling into his pocket. That was the furthest thing from Bucky’s mind however as he hesitantly shifted his hips upwards, trying to encourage Steve, but that got a firm hand pressing down on his stomach and cool air replacing the warmth of Steve's mouth.

 “Please, I’m sorry, just—“

 “Shh,” he was cut off, Steve rubbing a small circle on his skin before kissing his hip. Bucky didn't know what to think or do, because why the hell would this gorgeous man pay to get _him_ off when he could be doing practically anything he wanted to him right now? It was more than a little confusing. “Be a good boy for me, okay?" Steve said. "Stay still.” Bucky couldn't help but open his eyes, his expression dazed. He shivered at the use of ‘boy’, but something . . . something inside him _wanted_ it.

 The stimulus of Steve's mouth on his cock was almost too much when he could see Steve kneeling there, hair bobbing in his lap as though it was the most natural thing ever. Bucky's fingers itched with the urge to tangle in the blond strands, tug maybe. But Steve had told him not to move, and — he didn’t know when the fuck he'd started taking orders from this guy, but he figured he might as well go with it. If anything, he wished they weren't at the damned club and that they'd met under better circumstances, because more than anything he just wanted Steve to fuck the life out of him. Steve obviously knew what he was doing, was obviously skilled considering the way his tongue was toying with Bucky's slit and that sensitive bit just under the head that always left him breathless.

 True to Steve's command he'd stayed still, only squirming minimally, and he wasn't sure if he'd drifted out of lucid thought but he was suddenly pulled from his daze by three sharp knocks on the door. Oh, the five minute mark, which meant they only had a little time left. Bucky let his head fall forward onto Steve’s shoulder; not sure when they'd moved into this position, Steve shirtless except for his tie, Bucky loosely straddling his lap and letting him do as he pleased. One warm hand was cupping his ass, squeezing and holding him close as the other held their erections together, stroking and filling Bucky with the pleasure muddling his brain. Steve's mouth was on his shoulder and throat, sucking dark marks that would no doubt last for days, marks that Natasha would have to cover with concealer for his shows — marks that probably littered his whole body.

 Turned out Steve was nothing if not thorough.

 “Come on baby, you gonna come for me?” Steve purred, squeezing just enough to leave him gasping and Bucky nodded, nosing at Steve's shoulder and rocking his hips forward. All it took was fingers gently grazing his crack for him to come with a cry like a wounded animal as he spilt between them, his teeth sinking into Steve’s shoulder. Steve simply let out a grunt, canting his hips upwards before Bucky felt warmth spurt over his stomach. God that was nice, he'd always had a thing for letting his partners come on him, it was like—

 “So pretty, all marked up, just for me,” Steve mumbled, panting a little into his skin before gently starting to untangle them. Bucky was reluctant, trying to hold on until he realized Steve wasn't leaving but rather trying to clean him with a cloth and get his pants back on for him, giving him some sort of modesty. Bucky stretched out on the velvet love seat, sated, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched Steve getting dressed. For a while he'd honestly forgotten (somewhere between getting his bones sucked out through his dick and Steve practically fucking his thighs) that this was a transaction — that Steve had to go now.

 “I . . . fuck it — can I see you again? Not here, but like, outside? Your apartment? Or a hotel, or my place, just somewhere.” He was rambling, looking up hopefully and reaching out to trace his fingers down Steve's clothed stomach. Damn, he hadn't meant to beg. Bucky swallowed the lump of dread in his throat, hesitantly glancing upwards again, only to freeze.

 Steve was smiling down at him, eyes half fond, and Bucky felt his heart go out at that crooked grin. “Of course, I was hoping you'd ask. I’ll leave my number with the bouncer but, uh, The Star at seven this Tuesday? Just ask for Rogers and they'll send you up.” Bucky nodded, offering his own grin.

 “I’ll see you then, Mr. Rogers,” Bucky said, stretching out like a cat, which earned him fingers gently threaded through his hair as the last warning knock sounded from the door. He honestly didn’t want Steve to go.

 “Be good,” Steve told him, lips brushing over his cheek in a ridiculously _romantic_ gesture before slipping out the door, leaving Bucky to clean up the mess in the room, and the feelings that were left behind .

 


	2. Part Two

# PART   TWO

## Take To The Stage

Natasha had, of course, demanded details as soon as he'd gotten back out onto the club floor, practically dragging him off into the staff common room and sitting him down until he explained everything. At first she seemed worried, making sure that the bruises weren't from violence, and most of all that he wasn't regretting it. Yeah, far from it. As soon as she realized he was okay she’d smirked her signature smirk, sat back in her chair and prompted him to tell her everything. If anything, Bucky thought she seemed impressed with his tale. After all, they all knew some of the horror stories about this place — clients that'd gotten too heavy handed or broken the rules. While lap dances were legal, selling sex for money, especially through an establishment, could lead to jail time for all involved.

That was only part of the reason he didn’t do it, or hadn't until now — though it was his personal opinion that as long as both parties were consenting and not underage then why the fuck not?

The rest of the night he mostly mingled with clients, flirted a little for tips, and helped the wait staff by taking drinks to particularly busy tables. Not all of his job was flaunting his stuff on stage; some of the other dancers only did what they were used to, but he was happy to help out where he could and learn new things. Hell, he even got lessons from Natasha on weeknights when they weren't busy, learning pole dancing. Bucky’d always been athletic, dancing something he'd loved before he'd shipped off overseas, but pole dancing was a whole new ball game.

It was definitely a workout, needing a lot of core and upper body strength, but he was getting there. He didn’t know if it'd turn into anything yet, but he wouldn't mind incorporating some pole work into his shows if the boss gave him permission. Briefly, Bucky wondered whether Steve would like that — seeing him suspended in the air, dancing just for him. He found himself getting caught up in the daydream as Natasha tried to explain to him that he shouldn't get too attached, not knowing he'd already planned to meet Steve at a hotel in four days.

## Dangerous Dates

Saturday, Sunday, Monday — it all passed in a blur, even if every moment had been filled with anticipation, and admittedly, concern. Despite the fact he'd barely listened to Nat's warnings, he knew the situation didn’t exactly sound . . . well, _safe_. He was meeting a guy he'd met once, and during that meeting they'd had sex, _for which he'd been paid five thousand dollars._ Even if the sum had been smaller it wouldn't change the fact that this could be dangerous. He couldn't imagine it, but what if his Steve was some crazy stalker who was trying to get him somewhere alone? It sounded ridiculous, but he knew it happened.

Despite all this he couldn't resist going to the damned hotel, which he saw when he got there was not only extremely lavish and undoubtedly cost a fortune, but just _looked_ like one of those places where private investigators hung out, waiting to catch their client’s spouse in an affair. Bucky swallowed his nerves, fetching his phone from his pocket before shooting off a quick message to Nat.

_If you don't hear from me by one pm tomorrow afternoon, ring the cops and tell them to search for my body in the dumpsters behind The Star._

Not his best work, but it'd do the job. He felt minutely better knowing that at least someone knew where he'd be, and it was worth having that peace of mind even if it meant getting his ear chewed off by Nat tomorrow for putting himself in this situation . . . there was just something about Steve that drew him in. Like a moth to a flame, he realized.

The lady at the front desk was nice, her perfectly manicured nails tapping over her keyboard as she searched for ‘Mr. Rogers'’ room. She was quick at her job, polite, offering him a soft smile and the card labeled ‘guest’ in an obnoxious red font so he could access the elevator. This place definitely catered to the kind of clientele he'd expected, and if anything that made him even more nervous — but Steve seemed kind and caring, and he didn’t seem like a liar. He couldn't imagine Steve ever cheating on his partner.

It was only then he realized how delusional he sounded.

The guy'd come came to Red Room, for Christ's sake, and paid for sex with a performer — the fact that it was good sex didn’t change anything. He was probably just like every other man who came through those doors, just a bit more polite.

Bucky steeled himself, jaw clenched as he thanked the receptionist before shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and heading towards the elevator. All of a sudden he just felt . . . well, ridiculous. He hated that he'd put so much effort into his appearance tonight, that he'd been so excited all weekend, that it'd become his main focus since Friday. It was just sex, after all — Steve'd had to pay at the club, but this way he got it for free.

Bucky's eyes burned as he was carried up to the sixth floor, half focused on the changing lights on the control panel as he passed each level, and when he reached his destination he almost considered heading back home. What if it was all a set up? What if Steve didn’t even show? Even so, Bucky stepped out of the elevator and continued down the carpeted hall, card in his hand as he searched for room 114, all the beige doors identical other than the discreet brass numbers on each. Rather than swiping the card he simply knocked, not wanting to just walk in.

It was 7:01 pm.

Steve opened the door after a minute, dressed in black slacks and a white button down tucked into the waistband. His beard was trimmed, neat, not a hair out of place, cheeks a soft pink. His hair was a little messy, and the tie was gone — he'd obviously arrived in a suit, since Bucky could see the dark blazer and red tie folded over the back of a chair in the corner. From where he was standing he could also see the end of the bed, perfectly made.

Bucky shifted a little where he was standing, suddenly hyper aware of his body, jeans scraping against his skin. Steve was every inch as gorgeous as he remembered, if not more so, and more importantly he was actually here, smiling at Bucky and stepping aside to let him in. He offered his own smile, ducking his head as he followed Steve inside, surprisingly not freaking out when he heard the door click shut.

“Have to say, this place is real nice — you chose well,” he complimented, just to break the ice. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, very aware of the piercing blue eyes focused on him as he shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor, not bothering to fold it, his own eyes rising to meet Steve’s. “How do you want me tonight, sir?” Bucky breathed, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed, leaning his weight back on his hands so that his body was on display and cocking his head. His shirt was thin, long-sleeved and white, so practically see-through in this light, and his jeans were black, faded and ripped, hugging his hips and thighs perfectly.

Steve stayed silent for a moment, stalking forward and moving to stand between Bucky's legs, fingers tentatively reaching out to trace the swell of his cheek. He leaned into the touch, forcing himself not to wince when he felt cool metal brush over his skin. Oh. There definitely hadn't been a ring last time, but this time . . . Bucky forcefully shoved the thought out of his mind, focusing on what was going on despite the sickening feeling that he was helping someone cheat on their partner. Or maybe Steve thought it didn’t count because he was a stripper.

“First things first. I don't want to overwhelm you, James — if you want me to stop at any time, you need to tell me. Ah, traffic lights? Green, yellow, red. Green means good, yellow means stop for now or slow down, and red—“

“Means everything stops. I know, Steve, but trust me when I say I won’t need to use that,” Bucky interjected, smirking a little and tucking his fingers into the waistband of Steve's pants, untucking his shirt before tracing over his zipper. “Go on,” he said, glancing up through his eyelashes. He felt proud of himself when he noticed that Steve had to swallow to center himself, pupils blown with desire. His fingers ever so slowly undid the button at the top, then dragged the zipper down as Steve spoke.

“I didn’t say anything at the club because we'd just met, but this is different, right? Just us?” Steve asked, sounding a little strained as Bucky pulled his pants down so that they were tucked under the swell of his ass, giving him a great view of the bulge threatening to spill out of his gray briefs. Nice. Then he heard what Steve was saying and glanced up, blinking in surprise, before figuring Steve was asking whether this was going to cost more of his money. Part of him was tempted to state a price, just to see what Steve would do, but instead he nodded, nuzzling Steve's crotch gently and mouthing at the fabric.

“This one's a freebie, promise,” he purred, smirking a little when Steve groaned and gently pulled him back, looking troubled.

“Fuck, just — I’m trying to be serious for a moment, ‘kay?" Bucky felt his face fall. "Not that I don't absolutely love that,” Steve reassured him. “I just don't want either of us to get the wrong idea here.”

Oh. Okay. This was where Steve told him that it was just a fling, just sex, no strings attached, that he loved his wife and just wanted to experiment with someone disposable. Bucky braced himself, fighting sadness as he felt the hand with the ring cup his cheek again. He looked over at a vase of red roses that sat on the table. A romantic cliché, but everyone knew red was the color of lust, not love.

“Look," Steve said. "I don’t want this to just be one night — I want to see you again. Like, a lot, if you'll have me. Maybe . . . not just for sex, as long as you're okay with that. Dinner would be nice, I’d love to take you out. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the club, and honestly I think you're gorgeous — but I won’t be angry or offended if you say no. It’s your choice.”

It was the complete opposite of what Bucky had expected, and that was exactly the problem. If it was just sex he could pretend it didn’t matter, but if they were going on _dates_ and fucking . . . that was going to weigh on his conscience, knowing there was some wife waiting at home for Steve when they parted. The worst thing was that he wanted it, and if he said yes he knew he was going to end up getting his heart stomped on. Not that he cared. It’d been so long since he'd been able to let himself go with someone like he could with Steve, and he knew it was wrong and selfish but he didn’t want to give that up.

“Sounds like a plan to me, Mr. Rogers,” he breathed out after a moment of deliberation, glancing up before letting his lips curl into an almost nervous smile. “But for the record, only my mother and father call me James, and," he explained pointedly, "I’d rather not be thinking of either of them when I have your dick a few inches away from my face.” He tapped the wet spot on Steve's briefs playfully, “so for both our sakes, call me Bucky. Or you can use baby, I really liked that last time, hell, I’m pretty sure you could call me anything and I’d like it. Just not James.”

Steve snorted, grinning. Jerk.” Even so it seemed to be exactly what Steve wanted to hear, and that made Bucky feel slightly better about the whole fucked up situation — maybe he was a homewrecker, but for the moment he could just forget that and focus on the man in front of him.

“Punk.”

 

## The Morning After

Bucky woke up the next morning with an ache in his thighs and a warm arm wrapped around his body, cradling him close to a familiar muscled chest. In his opinion   it was the best way to wake up, even if he was covered in a sweat, lube, and come — hell, that made it even better. They’d gone at it like rabbits all night, and now he was exhausted yet happily sated, whole body buzzing with that strange glowing feeling Steve had given him in the club as well. Honestly, it was like a drug, and if this was the only way to get it then so be it.

Bucky's eyes slowly cracked open and he yawned, reluctant to get out of bed though he certainly needed to survey the damage, so to speak, and most of all see if he could even walk after spending the night with Steve's cock shoved up his ass. A cock which was already hard against his backside despite the fact that its owner was very much asleep and should’ve been worn out — he'd never met someone with such a freakishly fast refractory period. Not that he was complaining. Bucky gently untangled himself from Steve’s grip, trying not to wake him, and was eventually able to slip out of the bed, stretching his toes in the ridiculously soft carpet.

There was a bit of pain, yes, mostly just burning in his thighs and ass from the strenuous workout he'd been subjected to last night, but nothing too much to complain about. He padded into the ensuite completely nude, relishing the cool bite of the air on his skin as he stood in front of the mirror, scoping out his body. His neck was covered in small marks, hickeys and a rash from Steve’s beard — and not just his neck, but his whole body. He traced his fingers over the marks, noting an imprint of teeth as well, and the bruises of fingertips on his jaw and throat.

Those were from early on in the night, after he'd spent a good twenty minutes sucking Steve off, rolling the heavy weight of him around on his tongue before swallowing down as much of his cock as he'd been able, choking a little along the way; his jaw was still tender from the stretch. After that Steve had spent a ridiculously long time practically devouring Bucky's neck, often coming back there as the night had progressed.

Bucky's chest was littered with similar bruises, marks he'd wear with pride although he knew he'd have to cover them up for work to avoid questions — thankfully he still had some of the concealer Nat had left at his apartment a few months ago. Further inspection showed dark imprints of fingers on his hips and thighs, and on the back of his neck (Steve definitely had a firm grip, amongst other things), as well as small crescent imprints from nails. Whenever he moved his legs there were cramps, and an unpleasant chafing between his buttocks that had to be beard rash.

Bucky was a mess, essentially, but in the best possible way, and more importantly he felt absolutely amazing. He felt _alive_. Whatever happened with this thing with Steve he'd always be grateful for that, at least. He smiled into the mirror before getting into the shower. Afterwards he crawled right back into bed with Steve, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and letting himself drift in and out of consciousness. Here, in this room, with the red roses still as fresh as ever, it was like time had paused just for them.

 

## Childish Romance

The second time Bucky met up with Steve outside the club was at a little coffee shop on the corner of his own street, small and casual, and secluded. They'd chosen a booth towards the back of the store, playing footsies under the table like kids, feeding each other portions of food, and at one point Steve had even licked the coffee foam off his lips without even trying to conceal what he was doing. Bucky had flushed like a damn virgin at that, not that he hadn't found it endearing. The most memorable part of the date was that Steve was in regular clothes, jeans and a Henley, and he just looked . . . normal. Bucky loved it because for the first time he didn’t feel out of place — this was his territory, after all.

But when Steve had cupped his cheek to pull him into a kiss he'd felt the cool press of metal on his skin again, a grim reminder of exactly what he was doing.

 

## Star-crossed Lovers

Their third date was at the same hotel, in the same room, but they started off with a delicious dinner courtesy of room service, followed by the whole Star Trek trilogy which they rented on the room’s television for the night. Steve had seemed unsure of the films at first but had stuck it out through them all, humoring Bucky’s love of the Trek universe, and Bucky reckoned he'd ended up enjoying it almost as much as Bucky himself.

Bucky wasn't sure, but at one point when he'd been going on about Captain Kirk he was fairly certain Steve had been watching him with a fond gaze, which was like the opposite from desire — beyond lust, which was . . . well, Bucky didn’t know what it was.

They were exhausted by the time the films were finished, but not so exhausted that they didn’t have the energy to get their hands on each other after almost a week apart. Steve had been busy with work, apparently, which Bucky had learnt during their previous encounter was out of the city, in Brooklyn. He’d been surprised to hear Steve worked in the place he'd grown up in. That thought had been cut off by hands roaming over his body, and it'd been their hottest encounter yet; Steve frantic to touch him once they'd started, constantly kissing him even as he pounded Bucky through the thick mattress, the bed frame rattling with every snap of his hips.

Bucky had been left an incoherent mess after he'd had two earth-shattering orgasms, mind floating as he'd rested on Steve's chest, Steve's softening cock still inside him. They'd fallen asleep like that, trading lazy kisses and tracing patterns on each other’s skin.

 

## Dirty Dancing

Their nineteenth date included Bucky sneaking Steve backstage after a show, leading him through the darkened halls to one of the practice rooms where two poles were attached to the dance floor, a little speaker off to the side that he quickly hooked his phone up to. Natasha had reluctantly helped him set this up earlier, even though she didn’t completely approve of Steve; she liked him, but the ring? Nothing could fix that. Bucky's whole body was thrumming as his phone slowly connected, and he could feel Steve's eyes on him from where he was seated on an old plastic chair. Bucky exhaled, scrolling through his playlists until he found the song he and Nat had spent weeks choreographing.

“You should be flattered, you're the first to see this,” he mumbled, getting everything set up before taking off his robe to reveal a pair of latex pants, accompanied by five inch high heels he'd somehow crammed his feet into. This little performance went against everything his stage persona Sarge had been, but if things went to plan he'd be performing it regularly on stage in front of crowds soon enough. He took his place in the middle of the stage, lights dim, his whole body relaxing and going pliable as soon as the few first notes of the song began.

He had his back to Steve, one arm outstretched towards a pole, one hand in his hair. The dance still had ties to its roots, to Michael Jackson in the days when he was sexy and not creepy, with lots of spins and hips thrusts. While he loved the original, the cover by The Weekend was just . . . it fit, in so many ways, and he couldn't resist using it when he'd been figuring out a song choice. He threw everything he had into the show, because that’s exactly what it was. Not just an act, but a show he was putting on for the man he'd come to love over the past few months. He wasn't trying to be romantic though; it was sexual, a lament, really, for a love that wasn't his to have.

 

  _He’s saying that's okay_

_Hey baby do what you please_

_I have the stuff that you want_

_I am the thing that you need_

_He looked me deep in the eyes_

_He’s touchin' me so to start_

_He says there's no turnin' back_

_He trapped me in his heart_

“You like it?” Bucky breathed out, out of breath as he wandered back over, skin sweaty from the strenuous exercise he'd put himself through. He was pretty freaked out, especially with the way Steve was staring at him.

 Bucky yelped as he was pulled into Steve's lap, laughing out loud though when Steve's hands cupped his ass, holding him close. Steve didn’t go any further though, simply staring at him before pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “I love you," he breathed, and that . . .. Bucky's whole body froze, fingers tightening on the back of the chair, breath hitching as his throat seemed to close over. He'd kept his emotions under wraps this whole time, but here it was — crunch time.

 “Love your ass in that latex?” Steve tried after way too long, obviously having realized Bucky was hesitating. It wasn't that he didn’t . . . you know, love Steve, but that just wasn't allowed. He had to remind himself of the truth, focusing on the cold metal of the ring that was burning into his lower back. His arm, the goddamn ring — he hated that metal had a way of fucking things up for him.

 “No you don’t,” Bucky mumbled, pulling back a little but not having   the heart to climb out of Steve's lap. “Or you shouldn’t, at least. You’re married, Steve — there, I fucking said it. You're not _allowed_ to love me. I’m supposed to be a bit on the side, some fun to tide you over. Loving you is a dream, but . . . you have a wife.” He sighed, the fact of it finally resonating in his mind after all this time. How could Steve ever be his when Steve was married and Bucky was a stripper?

 He glanced back at Steve sadly, not expecting his anguish to be returned tenfold. It made his heart ache, to see such pain in Steve's eyes.

 “Was,” Steve spoke suddenly, his voice hoarse. “ _Was_ married. Had a wife. She . . . we were in the process of getting a divorce, but we still loved each other. Her plane crashed on her way back from England, and the last thing she told me was how she wanted to work things out.” He ducked his head, and Bucky realized he was close Steve was to crying. _Oh_.

 It was weird to realize that he'd never been a fling, that this had been just as real for Steve as it had been for him — that he'd gotten things so utterly wrong instead of just asking Steve about the ring and clearing this all up four months ago when they'd first met. They could've been so much happier, so much more relaxed. This could have been so much more than it was; Clint had already teased him about having a sugar daddy, and that wasn't what this was at all.

 “I love you too,” Bucky blurted, abandoning rational thought, knowing that if Steve cried he probably would too. “I do, and it scares the fuck out of me. These past few months . . . it’s killed me to think you went home to someone else every night. I want you all for myself.” He gently cupped Steve's cheek and tilted his head upwards, meeting his already wet gaze.

 “Do you want me to take off the ring?” Steve asked, making Bucky pause. “If you want me to, I will. The last thing I want is for you to think that I’ll always love her more. You’re both . . . I’ll always love Peggy, but she's my past. You’ve taught me to start living in the future.”

 Bucky forced himself to consider the idea, respecting the sacrifice Steve was offering. The ring obviously meant a lot to him, if he wore it every day, and Bucky couldn't just take that away from him. Bucky shook his head, gently capturing Steve’s hand in his own and bringing it up to his lips, brushing them over the golden band gently, while checking to make sure he wasn't pushing any boundaries.

 “No, actually . . . I think I’d like to hear about the woman who managed to put up with you,” he said, lips curled into a soft smile.

 

## Struggles Of A Businessman

“Bucky!” Steve snapped in a firm voice, snapping his hips a little in what Bucky figured was supposed to be a punishment, but all it did was make him squirm even more in Steve's lap. Bucky whimpered, burying his face in a muscled shoulder, the strong arms on either side of him outstretched towards the table, muscles flexing as Steve typed at his computer. He'd been like this for almost two hours, sitting in Steve’s lap, legs on either side of his, leaning into his chest with Steve's dick buried in his ass — and that was all well and good, if it weren't for the fact he wasn't allowed to goddamn _move_.

 “Come on, you can’t blame me, I’ve missed your cock,” he practically whined, shimmying his hips a bit more in the search for friction. But the angle was all wrong and the feeling of fullness wasn't enough to get him off, not today at least. “Please Stev— Sir,” he begged, mouthing at Steve's throat and arching his back to try and spur him on as much as possible.

 “And it’s missed you — but that’s exactly the problem, baby boy, you can’t just send me pictures of your body when I’m in meetings, as much as I love it. You got any idea how close Stark came to figuring out I was hard during my presentation?” Steve growled playfully, taking his hands away from his computer to lightly swat Bucky's ass. Bucky could see Steve admiring how his ass jiggled and reddened — a shame he wasn't up for leaving welts today. “You think it wasn't hell being away from you for so long?" Steve went on. "Two weeks is a long time when I’ve got to fuck my hand and pretend it’s you.” Steve gave a harsh thrust of his hips that jostled Bucky in his lap, groaning.

 “Just _fuck_ me!” Bucky finally broke, crying out and desperately trying to grind back against Steve's thick cock, heat in his stomach at the pull of skin on skin. Lube could only do so much, especially when a lot of it had dried. Steve simply snorted, swatting his ass again before pushing all the stuff on his desk to the side, some of the paperwork floating off onto the floor, abandoned. Next thing Bucky knew he was on his back on the wooden desk, his ass pulled to the edge, and Steve was fucking into him in fast, rough strokes that left him clawing at the smooth surface beneath him.

 “So fucking gorgeous,” Steve growled, sweat beading on his forehead as he kept up the savage pace of his hips, obviously sick of teasing and now working towards their release. Bucky mewled when fingers slid around his throat applying a firm pressure. It was an expert's grip — something he'd learnt Steve certainly possessed, along with elaborate knowledge of kinky sex.

 “Come on baby, you gonna come for me?” Steve urged him, his other hand reaching between them to stroke Bucky off, the strokes paced to his thrusts. Bucky nodded, head thrashing from side to side, his nails dragging angry red lines on Steve's back as he was progressively jackhammered up the desk.

 “Fuck!" he cried out, eyes squeezing shut as he came all over Steve's hand, whole body contracting and tensing with the immense pleasure shooting through his body. He was putty in Steve’s hands, melting as the grip on his neck loosened and sent a rush of blood to his brain, drawing out the aftershocks of his orgasm and leaving him panting.

 “That’s it,” Steve praised, doubling over and moaning, hips stuttering before jerking forward a few times, more than a little rough as he spilled into the warm heat of Bucky's ass. He stayed like that for a few moments, letting them both come down, then moving to pull out — until Bucky stopped him.

 “Not just yet. Just . . . give me a moment.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“ 'm oversensitive. Not in the mood to scramble my brain even more — I’ve got a show tonight.” Bucky didn't want to stroke Steve's ego too much. His show would be taxing tonight and he couldn't afford to be off his game — although exerting energy now would be good so that he wouldn't be too pent up and strained later.

 After the pole dancing had taken off at Red Room he'd been offered a position at a new club that'd opened up, SHIELD. At first he'd been nervous but this place was completely legitimate and legal, not to mention they treated their employees like gold. The shows weren't just about making the audience horny, in fact his shows were more like an art form than anything else. After a few weeks he'd been able to convince Natasha to change over too, and they were both loving it.

 Ironically enough his hit set featured the same dance he’d done for Steve almost a year ago, and at SHIELD he didn’t have to pretend to be some dark and mysterious macho guy — the audience adored him as Bucky — better known as ‘dollface’ whenever Nat introduced him. What could he say? She’d heard a compromising conversation between him and Steve and she used the nickname to tease him. He didn’t mind using Bucky as his stage name, since no one would guess that was what he actually went by.

 Perhaps the funniest thing was how his signature look was a pair of red latex pants, the same hue as the roses Steve brought home for him every Thursday night, the same as the lights in the club, the red of the velvet love seat they'd first made out on, the roses from their first night together, even the star on his arm.

 Bucky loved red, but his favorite was blue like the color of Steve's eyes. It was the color of summer skies, of calming water, of second chances and new love — but most of all, it was the color that now permeated every waking moment of his day, the color he started and ended his days with.

 And he wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to the pole dancing routine, which I highly recommend you watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43xMV8R2xMo

**Author's Note:**

> Link for the routine: https://www.google.com.au/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwiFgqbajLPUAhUDkZQKHcCBCowQtwIIKzAB&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D43xMV8R2xMo&usg=AFQjCNFgFTibBzxcFlpemL0eeGV0AggpFA&sig2=GxHeDy5cuuO184Y1eK0_BA


End file.
